


this side of your grave

by bisexualoftheblade



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Begging, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 02, Praise Kink, Vaginal Fingering, Valentine's Day Fic Exchange
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-13 19:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29407122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualoftheblade/pseuds/bisexualoftheblade
Summary: Dust motes floated in the rays of golden light. This was supposed to be Sasha’s apartment, her home. But it felt, it feltwrong, Tim thought. It was an apartment yes, but it was sterile, a cold mausoleum for a woman he didn’t remember.
Relationships: Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 22
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	this side of your grave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jomipay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jomipay/gifts).



> Thanks to ThatHydrokinetic and Queerbutstillhere for beta reading!

Dust motes floated in the rays of golden light. This was supposed to be Sasha’s apartment, her home. But it felt, it felt _wrong,_ Tim thought. It was an apartment yes, but it was sterile, a cold mausoleum for a woman he didn’t remember. 

After they had discovered the, the _thing_ that had pretended to be Sasha, it had been decided that someone should go to her apartment and try to find some hint of the woman that used to be their friend. There had been a lot of arguing over who should go. No one wanted to be the one to admit they didn’t even know what they were looking for, that they had no clue what the real Sasha was like, let alone how to find evidence of her life. In the end, they decided Tim should be the one to go since he had been closest to her, not that he remembered. 

He hovered in the entrance. It wasn’t like he was breaking in, but in the back of his mind he felt that if he went in he would find something he didn’t want to see. But the scarier thought is that he would find nothing, that he would spend the rest of his life wondering who Sasha had been. 

And so he stepped into her apartment. _A giant leap into a vast unknown_ , he thought. He paused, unsure where that phrase had come from, but shook it off. A poetic phrase wasn’t important, not right now. He ignored the whisper in the back of his head that said it was. 

The apartment was small. A living room that connected to a kitchen, a bedroom with an attached bath, and a small balcony. It wasn’t anything special, but it felt like it was the most sacred place Tim had ever been. He took a shaky breath, and walked toward the kitchen. It was an easy place to start, and the place he was least likely to find anything. She had been dead for months. _You didn’t notice your best friend was gone_ , the voice in his head whispered, and he desperately tried to shake it off.

Photographs littered the walls of the kitchen, glimpses of happier moments, of a time long gone. Tim stared at each one carefully, looking for the tiniest discrepancy, a single mistake. Each photo was pristine, shiny photo paper with creased edges pinned in neat lines along the wall. A picture-perfect picture, he thought. 

And then he spotted it. Well, he wasn’t sure what “it” was. But there, tucked in a corner, hidden beneath another photo, were the frayed edges of an old polaroid print. He peeled back the edges of the newer photo to stare at it in quiet disbelief.

The woman who looked out at him from the photo was a stranger, and yet somehow he knew _exactly_ who she was. Sasha James.

She was beautiful. Tanned skin, long curly brown hair, and a smile that looked like it lit up a whole room. And standing next to her was a younger version of himself. They were in what looked to be a club of some kind, all neon lights and grungy walls and alcohol-slicked surfaces. And they were … they were _happy_.

_The music around them blared, a heavy bass that echoed in their bones. Sasha’s laughter rang through the air, just audible above the music, but Tim thought it was the most gorgeous thing he had ever heard._

_Sasha held out her arm, and he heard the click of a camera. He smiled and turned toward her, pressing a messy kiss to her lips, clumsy with the alcohol coursing in his system. “You are truly unforgettable,” he laughed, and they slipped off into the crowd once more._

Tim let out a sharp gasp, his head reeling. He wasn’t sure _why_ the Stranger had decided to let him have that memory back. Probably just to taunt him, to leave him desperately searching for more, searching for a person that would never come back. And yet … and yet he knew he would keep searching, keep looking for those lost memories. He had to. 

He took a shaky breath, and folded the picture into his pocket, then walked out of the kitchen. There was nothing left for him there, just rotting food that a soft whisper told him Sasha would have hated. 

He hovered in the living room, unsure where to start, before his eyes caught on a bookshelf in the far corner. He floated toward it, shaky breaths, measured steps. He could do this. He _had_ to do this. After all, if he didn’t remember her, who would?

The books on the shelf were worn, frayed spines with unreadable titles. They were books that had been loved, but by whom, Tim didn’t know. He picked one up at random; a smaller volume with yellowed pages, _milk and honey_ by Rupi Kaur. He flipped through the pages to see one with a folded corner, and he paused to look closer. “he moved her hand,” Tim read, “between her legs / and whispered / _make those pretty little fingers / dance for me_.”

_Sasha’s breathing was heavy against his neck, panted moans vibrating against his neck and her legs clutched behind his back. She whimpered a soft plea, nothing fully intelligible, just a plea for more. And so he gave it to her._

_He scissored his fingers, the noise echoing obscenely in the quiet room. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, “So beautiful taking my fingers like this. Can you take more, baby? You’re doing so well I’m so proud." She let out another soft whimper as she rocked back onto his fingers, desperate for more._

Tim jolted once more, his breathing shakier this time. 

He _knew_ her. Tim had _known_ Sasha James, both as a friend and as something more. He’d known her, and then he’d forgotten her, and now he was left with only scattered pieces of what they’d once been.

Tim has to sit down. He doesn’t know what to do with what he had found. Does he tell the others? Would it even matter? Can’t he just be selfish and keep these small flashes of memories to himself?

It’s an easy choice in the end. A selfish choice, but an easy one. Why haunt the others with this knowledge? Tim tells them that there was nothing at her apartment, and the polaroid photograph burns a hole in his pocket, a silent reminder of a happier time long gone.

.


End file.
